


The Younger Daughter

by MarlenaWatches



Category: Dragon Age 2, Female Mage Hawke - Fandom, Mage Hawke - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Carver is a prat, F/F, F/M, M/M, Mage Hawke - Freeform, Marian Hawke is the youngest, Not Like That, She changes her name sort of, She's snarky and angry, What else is new, no dog till Kirkwall, she likes knives
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:34:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26532946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarlenaWatches/pseuds/MarlenaWatches
Summary: Marian is the youngest Hawke.  She's 18 at the start of this story.  The twins are 25.  I'm using this change as a creative writing exercise.  What changes as a result?  No idea yet, let's find out, shall we?I started writing this to dig myself out of a rut.  I've been cooped up at home since early march, minimizing contact with other people as much as humanly possible (COVID 19 has hit my area hard, though not enough people here are taking it seriously), and my mental health has taken a decided nosedive as a result.  Writing helps me focus on something other than the clusterfucks that are my life and my country.  Rest in Peace, Ruth.I wanted to get back into writing for Waiting For Someone, but honestly, I just can't bring myself around to the right headspace.  So here's what I've got.  Comments and feedback welcome.
Kudos: 1





	1. Home No More

Another chilly morning, another caravan prepping to leave. Marian scowled from her perch atop the old highway at the distant flurry of activity beyond the windmill, through the rising smoke of cookfires clustered throughout the small town. The dagger in her hand threw sparks as she rasped her whetstone down its edge with undue force, and she winced, looking down at the blade.

“You’re going to sharpen that thing till it’s naught but a bloody needle, sister dear.”

Marian frowned harder as Bethany settled herself down beside her, swinging her legs in the air below the stone road’s edge, like a child.

“We can’t all be content to darn socks or grind barley.”

Bethany raised an amused brow; “No, of course not. Entirely too useful, hmm?”

Marian snorted; “Boring, you mean.”

“Different strokes, Marylamb,” came Beth’s singsong reply.

Scowl darkening, Marian growled; “I hate it when you call me that. Bad enough when Mother does it.”

“Yes, I know, but you get the most adorable dent in your chin when you frown at it, I can’t resist.”

Marian elbowed her sister, trying to suppress a rueful grin, and Bethany giggled, nudging her back with her shoulder. Sobering, Bethany sighed as she gazed out toward the caravan. “We should be going with them. We can’t wait much longer, Sis.”

Marian huffed, setting her dagger and stone aside, and scrubbed at her face with both hands before leaning back on them, staring upward at the smoke curling into the late-morning sky. “I know.”

Bethany leaned forward, quiet urgency leaching into her tone; “Carver’s wounds are good as healed-“

Marian gritted her teeth, “I know.”

Bethany winced, but kept speaking; “Mother’s finally come around to deciding what to pack-“

“I _know._ ”

“The latest refugees said the Darkspawn are less than three days march behind them-“

“I KNOW!” Marian brought her hands back up to her face to hide it, curling in on herself in a defensive hunch.

“I know you know,” Bethany responded gently, placing a hand on her younger sister’s shoulder.

Marian swallowed thickly, and let her shoulders sag. “Alright.” She lifted her gaze to Bethany’s and nodded, her eyes hot and stinging. “Alright, Beth. We...we'll spend today packing. Tomorrow, we leave.”

Bethany nodded back and squeezed her sister’s shoulder, then stood up, offering her hand. Marian sniffed, and let her sister pull her to her feet. She tucked her dagger back into the sheath in her boot, and slid the whetstone back into the pocket at her belt.

Bethany kept hold of her hand, and Marian squeezed it firmly before lacing their fingers together. In solemn yet companionable silence, they headed back toward the little house their parents had built, trying not to think about how much it was going to hurt to leave it.

\----

"And where the hell are we going? Denerim? Highever? Further? What's the capital of Antiva?"

Marian rolled her eyes over to Bethany as Carver's voice rose stridently from the little cottage's kitchen. Beth gave a small, enduring sort of smile in response, and squeezed her sister's hand before releasing it, turning back to the decrepit front door and swinging it closed behind them with a dusty creak. Marian strode forward into the house, her jaw set as their mother responded to her son, voice weary.

"Carver, please, that's not helping. For now, all we know is we have to move north; I don't know how far we'll need to go, how long we'll be traveling..." Marian stood in the arched kitchen entry, and watched as her mother leaned forward in her chair, rubbing delicately at her temples. Leandra's elbows rested on the rough-hewn tabletop, holding enough of her weight to hunch her shoulders, shrinking the space between them over her spine. For the first time in her life, Marian looked at her mother and thought she appeared to be...frail. Small. Mortal. Her gut seemed to freeze and twist in on itself in response to the unwelcome realization.

Carver sat opposite, his large arms folded over the expanse of his chest, leaning back in his chair with a scowl on his face. Marian wanted to smack him. Which was normal, really, and helped her wrestle her attention back to the conversation at hand.

"You've marched valiantly all across the length and breadth of Fereldan with King Cailan's forces for Maker knows how long, and you still have all the geographical knowledge of a Crossroads goat herder. _Antiva City_ is the capital of Antiva, dearest brother," Marian stated lightly, a hand on her hip, an eyebrow raised in disdain. He glanced at her, blue eyes flashing with reproach, and sneered before looking away, not bothering with a response. Bethany entered the kitchen with purpose as Marian flopped into an empty chair, setting her arms on the table. Her cotton sleeves caught and snagged slightly on the uneven surface. It was a familiar sensation, and Marian's heart clenched at the thought that soon it would no more than a memory, along with all the other innumerable little things that piled up to flesh out her understanding of 'home'.

"Anyone want tea?" Beth asked brightly as she hooked the water kettle over the waning cookfire, looking expectantly back at her family. Leandra sighed and mustered a tired smile for her eldest; "Yes, love, thank you." Marian nodded her own assent, and both sisters looked then to Carver, who slumped further back in his chair, face sullen. Marian reached out and flicked his arm with sharp intent. " _Ow_ , yes, alright, thank you, Beth," he muttered with a glare at Marian.

Bethany smiled, and with a snap of her fingers, flames leapt up to a merry blaze, casting orange light against the bricked recesses of the kitchen's raised firepit. That done, she smoothed her hands over the ends of her shirt front and turned to face her family full-on.

"Now," she began, her soft face stern and her gentle voice strong with resolve; "we're all agreed that today's our last day here. We can't stay any longer, and we all know it. We have decisions to make about what to take with us, and what must stay behind."

Leandra's face seemed to crumple in on itself, and she hid her eyes with her hands as a small, broken sound left her mouth. Bethany went to her immediately, enfolding her in a hug. "It's alright, Mother. So long as we're together, we'll be alright. Won't we, Carver." That last was directed at her brother, her voice threaded with steel, and eyes which usually expressed sweet temper with honey-colored warmth seemed to spear him in his chair, fierce and demanding in a way he'd never seen from her before. He swallowed nervously, and sat up a bit straighter; "That's right, Mother. We'll get through this. You'll see."

Their mother sniffed, wiping her tears away with halfhearted impatience, squeezing Bethany's arm in gratitude, and gazed at her son across the table, her eyes uncomfortably direct in their sad inquiry. He set his jaw and held her gaze; "We'll see this through."

Leandra nodded, and seemed to gather herself, setting her shoulders back and raising her head. "Well then. We'd best get started."

\----

The sky had just begun to lighten; time seemingly suspended in that quiet, dew-soaked hour before true dawn, when the ancient bell ensconced in Lothering's chantry tower began to ring out the warning. The Darkspawn were coming.


	2. Fleeing Lothering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regarding the schools of magic; I'm essentially smashing DA Origins and DA 2's school/skill trees together. DA 2 left a lot of cool spells and effects on the cutting room floor, and I want them back. Fair warning on that front.
> 
> Bethany's skills lie primarily in the Primal, Force, and Arcane schools. Marian's are mostly Creation, Primal, and Spirit. Mostly.

The bell had shocked them all awake at once, driving them with purpose in a silent, coordinated rush. Their packs were slung over their shoulders, weapons in hand and sheath, before the sounds of screams and clashing metal harried them out of the house’s hidden side-door, creeping low to the ground. 

Leandra and Malcolm had built their little house on a small hill just to the southeast of Lothering. Close enough to walk to market, far enough away that they’d not easily attract unwanted attention, Templar or otherwise. Marian blessed the foresight of her parents that morning. If the house had been situated any closer to Lothering proper, they would never have gotten away.

One look toward the town square, and it became painfully clear that their initial plan to flee north straight from town would _not_ be an option. Hurlocks, Genlocks, and Shrieks were spilling out through the fields adjacent to the ancient imperial highway, spreading across the ground like bubbling oil. They had set fire to the windmill, and were roiling southward through town, overwhelming the tents, the townhouses, the blacksmith’s shop, the tavern…engulfing everything, every _one_ , in their wake. Marian swallowed and turned her face away from the forms of fleeing villagers, their panicked, terrified shouts ringing in her ears as they were cut down and trampled under the relentless force of the horde. _There’s no helping the dead. We’ve got to go._ Grasping Beth’s hand, who squeezed Leandra’s, who clung to Carver’s, Marian threw a Haste spell over them all, like a cloak. Together, staying low and moving as quietly as they could manage, they ran east and southward.

The next few hours saw the sun rise over their flight, illuminating a grey horizon, rays weak and sickly; smothered in a high smog. Marian kept casting Haste and Mass Rejuvenation in staggered cycles, while Bethany shored them up with Invigoration spells, glancing anxiously back at their mother every few minutes. Carver helped Leandra keep apace, his eyes up and alert, scanning the terrain for signs of pursuit or attack.

The further south they traveled, the more the land seemed scarred and broken; the green of grass, tree and shrub finally giving out entirely, and they were surrounded by nothing but barren, hardpacked dirt, jagged grey rock, and odd, intermittent twists of massive petrified root, thorny and hostile.

Marian was overwhelmed by the scope of the devastation. _Will it be like this all the way to the White River Bannorn? Have the Darkspawn reached that far east? I can’t imagine…_

Carver shouted a warning, shaking her from her thoughts as adrenaline spiked. Darkspawn incoming.

Marian supposed she should be thankful it was a small group. It let them crash-test combat tactics. Carver kept their mother back from the front line, his great-sword in his hands, eyes alert. Bethany and Marian unleashed their Fade-given talents full bore, for the first time in their lives intending their magic to kill.

Carver's blade was suddenly bright with fire; Bethany had cast Flaming Weapon at him with barely a backward glance. Their father’s lessons had been thorough. Marian cast a Grease spell under the main bulk of oncoming Darkspawn, a baker’s dozen hurlock skirmishers suddenly unsteady on their misshapen feet. She bared her teeth, wove her staff gracefully through the space in front of her body, and threw Chain Lightning among them. Seven went down and lay still, corpses smoking. The remainder shrieked in rage and scrambled forward, weapons and scabby fingers digging into the dirt, heedless of the accelerant coating their limbs. Bethany cast a repulsion field with an upthrust of her staff; she had spotted archers settling themselves into cover at the back of the attacking force. Then, with a grunt of effort and a shift in her stance, she let loose a Fireball, right into the thick of the large grease slick. The resulting explosion was...gratifying. Bethany allowed herself a small, yet fiercely satisfied grin.

Several of the creatures had managed to avoid the flaming mire, howling as they launched themselves mindlessly at the two mages, their filthy blades raised over their heads. Their faces, clearer to see the closer they came, were raw, lipless horrors of grey and red flesh stretched over bone. Forcing down the panic hammering up from her lungs, Marian brought her staff's end down hard on the ground, blowing them back with a Mind Blast. She turned her head just over her shoulder, keeping her eyes forward as she shouted back at her brother; "Protect Mother, keep them at a distance!"

"Already on it, little sister," Carver snarled in response, rushing forward in fluid motion at a solitary hurlock that had sneaked around the two mages holding the line at the fore, attempting to flank him. He skewered its chest with his flaming broadsword, sinking red hot metal straight through and out the thing's back. Fire licked up from the blade and caught hungrily at the grey flesh of its throat while it choked and howled, its putrid, milk-white eyes bulging in a meaty, patchwork skull. Carver ripped the sword out of its chest and swung it back around in a practiced arc, cleanly decapitating the abomination. Leandra fell to her knees, hands trembling over her mouth. The creature's corpse dropped with a sick thud, the stub of its neck smoking. The wound had been cauterized. Carter exhaled, renewed his grip on the oversized blade, and returned to his mother's side, eyes up for any further sneak attacks.

Bethany swore as the last surviving archer ducked back into cover. She cast an arcane shield over herself just in time to deflect an arrow flying straight for her head, and took a deep breath. Screaming her frustration through tightly clenched teeth, she brought down a Fist of the Maker, smashing the disgusting nuisance into paste, and explosively shattering the boulder it had been hiding behind as well. 

Marian blinked at her sister in the suddenly quiet aftermath. "Well! Never let it be said that you don't make a...lasting impression, dear sister."

Bethany let out a breathless giggle, her hands on her knees, her staff on the ground at her feet. Taking a moment to overcome her own adrenaline and nerves, Marian looked back at Carver and Leandra. They'd been behind, away from the heat of the battle, a distance of several dozen feet. Both appeared to be hale and whole, though their mother seemed shaken in the extreme. Marian breathed a sigh of relief. _Well. A_ _s first battles go, that could have gone worse._ She kicked at the scorched foot of a monstrous corpse, lip curled in vicious satisfaction.

 _At least now we know they’re flammable_ , she mused inwardly, backing away from the dying flames and trying very hard not to gag on the smell. She cast another Mass Rejuvenation while Carver sheathed his smoldering sword and hugged their mother to his side, trying awkwardly to ease Leandra’s frayed nerves. She clutched his arm as they all gathered in a loose circle, each eyeing the surrounding landscape with varying degrees of apprehension.

Bethany exhaled steadily. She had retrieved her staff once she'd gotten her wind back, and she planted it solidly at her side; “Are we good to go on? Still headed Southeast, or should we change course?” 

Carver scoffed, an arm still looped around their mother; “So long as it’s away from the Darkspawn, why does it matter?” Bethany frowned at him; “Carver, we can’t just wander aimlessly. We need a destination.” Marian agreed, but stayed quiet. Leandra took an unsteady breath, briefly returning Carver’s embrace before stepping toward her daughters. “We can go to Kirkwall.”

Bethany and Marian paused, exchanging looks of disbelief and dismay. “There are a _lot_ of Templars in Kirkwall, Mother,” Bethany replied slowly, trepidation marking each syllable. Marian barked out a laugh, dry and mirthless. Leandra sighed, “I know that, love, but we still have family there, and an estate.” Marian growled then, and hissed through clenched teeth; "All the estates in the Free Marches wouldn’t make up for the danger Beth and I would be in if we were to go to Kirkwall!" She’d heard stories about what passed for their Circle of Magi. The Gallows made Ferelden’s isolated, lake-bound Circle tower sound like dreamy palatial indulgence by comparison. She was determined never to find out for herself how true all those awful stories were.

"Marylamb, we are starting over with nothing but the clothes we are wearing and the supplies we are carrying. We need friends. Connections. That means Kirkwall," Leandra explained to her youngest kindly. Marian huffed and glared at the ground, arms folded tightly across her chest.

Bethany looked to Carver, who shrugged at her and returned his gaze to their surroundings, scanning the rocks for potential ambush. She frowned, then sighed, closing her eyes. “Then we need to get to Gwaren and take ship.”

“So long as we get out of here. We’ve stood still long enough; if we’re all agreed, let’s keep moving,” Carver snapped irritably.

Marian cast another Haste, disturbed to find that her mana reserve was shrinking. She’d never cast so often for so long before, and Rejuvenate was only going to hold her up for perhaps another three hours, at the rate they were going. She didn’t even want to think about how Beth was doing; her older sister had been casting spells which drew harder, and more deeply on one’s connection to the Fade.

They had four lyrium potions between them, hoarded for emergencies by their father. They had cost him a small fortune, acquired one vial at a time through dark market connections. They’d been hidden for years in the secret storage space under the bedroom floor, alongside several spell tomes, enchanted trinkets, and a staff he had smuggled with him when he’d fled to Ferelden with their mother all those years ago. The Treasure Trove, the three siblings had called the hidden cashe when they were little. Secret and strange, until Father had started teaching them from the books, and explaining the enchantments laid upon the old rings and bracelets, and about the purpose of potions.

Carver learned the basics right alongside his sisters. “Knowledge is power, Carver,” he had told his young son, after the boy had complained about having to sit still for lessons he would never be able to use himself. “It disarms fear, turns it into something more useful. If you know how a thing works, you know what to expect, and therefore how to adapt to it. Turn fear into caution, to care, to productive mindfulness. Knowledge allows you to do this. Ignorance overfeeds fear; bloats it, twists it into danger, and that danger tends to strike without direction, or purpose. And how can it do otherwise, with no knowledge to guide it?” Carver had nodded his little head, and sat back down with his sisters. Malcolm smiled proudly; “Good lad. We’ll pull out the practice swords after our lesson; go through some exercises, hmm?” Carver had grinned, crossing his legs expectantly. Malcolm had winked at him, then cleared his throat and asked, “Well then! Where were we, my girls?”

Trotting further into the barren, monochromatic wastes, Marian shook herself from the memories. _Pay attention. We’ve miles to go before we can even think about stopping._ Gritting her teeth against the unsettling sensation of her mana dwindling down still further, she recast Mass Rejuvenation and picked up their speed by a step.

Not half an hour later, Carver spotted a Templar ahead, accompanied by a startlingly tall, sleeveless warrior woman, trying desperately to fight off a pack of hurlocks. They were hopelessly outnumbered, and the Templar seemed wounded already.

 _Shouldn’t we go around…ah, well, never mind, here we go then_ , Marian thought to herself with a roll of her eyes as Carver dashed forward to help the strange duo. Bethany followed, and Hawke brought up the rear, their mother safely tucked behind her. She cast Mass Rejuvenation once more, including the Templar and the tall, red-headed woman in her intent. Following with Flaming Weapon, she felt a wave of vertigo as her mana flickered dangerously low. She exhaled wearily, leaning on her staff as Bethany and the warriors cleaned up from there.

“Dearest, you need lyrium,” her mother said softly behind her. Marian glanced at her, mouth tightening. Leandra’s steady blue eyes brooked no argument. Marian nodded, took a potion from the hidden harness beneath her makeshift brigandine, popped the cork with her thumb and knocked back the glittering blue liquid before she could think too hard about it.

It felt like ice and fire, and tasted like the air before a lightning storm. It filled her mouth, freezing her tongue and burning her throat, and she grimaced as it settled like a ball of hot lead in her stomach. It did the trick though. Her mana flared to almost overfull in an instant, leaving her dizzy, a headache starting at the back of her skull and crawling its way forward under her scalp. She ignored it, and walked with purpose toward the strangers now warily eyeing her siblings.

She tossed the empty vial to the ground, glancing once over her shoulder to ensure Mother was right behind, and then stepped up to stand by Bethany's side. She silently offered her sister a lyrium draft, eyes on the Templar now studying the two of them with narrowed eyes and a pinched, stern sort of face. His face turned to open challenge when Bethany downed the potion, and Marian stepped to meet him, her eyes liquid steel as he advanced on them, spouting the usual Chantry-dog litanies.

 _Of course. We jump in, save their skins, and all the idiot fucking Templar can think to do is rattle his saber at the apostates, never mind we're all still completely surrounded by fucking DARKSPAWN!_ Marian seethed inwardly, thoroughly fed up with the confrontation.

Just as she was trying to decide whether or not killing the Templar was worth the delay, the big woman, Aveline, managed to talk her self-righteous Templar spouse down off his overzealous ledge. Marian barely held in a snort. _She's married to him? No accounting for taste!_

Bethany snarked diplomatically about the merits of a truce while clamping a hand firmly to Marian’s wrist, indicating that she'd known full well the direction her little sister’s thoughts had taken. Marian could see Mother ringing her hands, her face pale and anxious. Carver had been carefully still during the argument, his sword at the ready, but he relaxed and sheathed it once an accord was struck.

The Hawke siblings all exchanged quiet looks, affirming their course, and then they were all off once more, their party number increased.

\----

Here is the map of Ferelden I am working from. Sourced from Abadir on Deviantart.

https://www.deviantart.com/abadir/art/TMM-Political-Map-of-Ferelden-Reference-509714542


	3. Templars and Mages and Mothers, Oh My

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There be contention in the ranks.

Splitting her attention between the taciturn Templar and the scattered packs of Darkspawn that kept popping up out of the smoking wasteland, chittering madly and intent upon mindless slaughter, well. It was beginning to give Marian eye strain. The steel-plated pillock was injured though, so she supposed he didn't present as much of an immediate threat as he could have. Still, she watched him, and made no effort to hide it. Aveline would glance at her every now and then, and glare in silent warning. 'Don't even try it, little girl', her clover-green eyes seemed to say. Marian was unimpressed with the big woman's posturing, and brushed off her gaze like dust from her sleeve.

Aveline pulled Carver aside during a brief rest. "Your little sister is becoming a problem, young man," she muttered at him, eyes shooting back at Marian, who was once again eyeing the Templar as if he were a particularly ripe pile of bronto shit. For his part, the Templar ignored the young mage's eyes, slumping to the ground with his back braced against a flat bit of boulder. He looked for all the world as if his only concern just then was catching his breath.

Carver followed Aveline's gaze, and nodded with a thoughtful frown. "I'll handle it," he told her, keeping his voice low. She stepped back with a nod, her eyes boring a hole through his head, "See that you do; I'll not let her hurt Wesley. We all came to an understanding, or so I thought. _She_ seems to feel otherwise. Fix it, before it weakens us to the Darkspawn." With that, she turned away and stalked off to watch the path ahead, leaving Carver standing alone. He wanted to discuss the matter with Bethany, but she was standing sentry at the mouth of the trail behind them. He exhaled, his breath an irritated huff.

"Yes, yes I heard. I suppose I'll have to stop making murder-eyes at the stupid tin soldier."

Carver stiffened as Marian's voice rose lightly, just behind his shoulder. He whirled on her, jaw clenched as he growled; "Too right you will. We need Aveline's arm, little sister. She'll turn on us if we threaten her Templar, and while we're busy tearing each other to shreds, the Darkspawn will descend and finish us all. So cut the shit and fall in line."

She gritted her teeth, setting angry umber eyes resolutely against his cerulean; "Fall in line? Oh for - Really? And _then_ what? Hmm? What, brother mine, would you have us do once we rejoin civilization? What happens to Bethany and me when that clanking Chantry _tool_ calls his Templar brethren to his side?"

Carver slashed his hand through the air between them, cutting her off, "We're nowhere near worrying about that right now. We're barely four leagues from home, and we've got thrice that distance to cover before we might, _might_ stumble across another holding, so for Maker's sake, Marian, just focus on helping me get our family through this alive!" 

Her face turned crimson with rage. Stepping closer she jabbed a finger at his chest, her voice a low hiss, "Stop barking orders at me, Carver, I am not some commissioned grunt under the purview of your command; Beth and I are _mages_ , in case you've conveniently forgotten, and you've got us traveling with a Templar and his hulking bitch-bride as if we're all on holiday in Highever! As if they wouldn't happily have the two of us killed, or shackled, or made Tranquil just as soon as they were able to! Your sisters are _apostate_ _mages_ , Carver! If you can't wrap your thick skull around what that means for us, then perhaps you'd best fuck off with your new best friends, and leave Bethany and me to sort things out for ourselves! It seems we might be safer that way!" She was shouting now, but she didn't care. Carver had never seemed to take the threat the Templars posed to his sisters as seriously as he should have, and in Marian's view this latest little debacle proved it outright. _He fucked off to join the army, spent years away doing whatever it is soldiers do, barely wrote, never visited, and as soon as he's back, having deserted in the middle of the Battle of Ostegar, he thinks he gets to order us around like he's what, our commanding officer? Absolutely not._

"Marian Reveka Hawke!" Leandra's voice rang out suddenly, sharp as the crack of a whip; "You will be silent this instant, or I will slap that churlish mouth of yours straight into the bleeding Fade!"

Marian's eyes went wide as saucers as her head whipped around to face the looming, irate figure of their mother, quailing under cobalt eyes frosty with rage. Her tongue seemed stuck to the roof of her mouth as she swallowed. She'd never heard her mother speak that way before, to _any_ of her children. Cows would all have sprouted wings and flown to Satina before Marian would have thought to hear her mother talk like that. And that _she_ was the target of it... Marian felt as though she had actually been struck.

Leandra was not done. Holding her youngest daughter's gaze, she stated clearly, her tone ice cold; "You heard me, young miss. Mouth. Shut." She turned then to face the Templar and his wife. Aveline had overheard the escalating argument, and had moved with caution to rejoin her husband, hand hovering over the hilt of her blade, muscles tense with apprehension. "Ser Templar. Madam. We have an accord, do we not," Leandra asked them frankly, her voice brisk and even. Aveline exchanged a glance with her husband, then nodded, "Aye. We do."

"I am glad to hear it. I apologize for my children's unworthy display. I raised them better and they know it." Leandra shot Carver and Marian a look that should have scalded the skin from their faces. The two siblings exchanged shamed glances and then looked resolutely at the ground.

Leandra spoke on. "I put forth an addendum to our agreement. Once we're in sight of a settlement, we part ways amicably. We'll send you onward for the holding, and then set ourselves off in another direction. A peaceful separation, at which point each party's business is their own. Agreed?"

The Templar frowned and made to open his mouth, but Aveline nudged him sharply with her booted foot. He shut it and nodded. "Your _word_ , Ser Templar," Leandra demanded, her voice unyielding iron, "Or I cannot account for what my youngest and most reckless child may do." The Templar sighed, and rose unsteadily to his feet, Aveline helping him up gently. He put a fist to his chest and dipped forward into a bow, "On my honor, Mistress. A peaceful separation." Marian didn't believe it for a second, but held her tongue, unwilling to incite her mother's ire any further.

Leandra nodded once, her mouth a firm line, "Now that's officially settled, let's get on with it, shall we? Carver, give the Templar a healing draft, he's barely keeping to his feet. Marian, go retrieve your sister, we've stood still long enough; we should get as far as we can while there's still light to see by."

Instructions given, they all moved to comply. Leandra Hawke had spoken.

\----

Many grueling hours later, they stumbled across a shallow concave space in the lee of a particularly large, upthrust shard of limestone. Night was falling quickly across the ruined land, and it was unanimously decided they'd best tuck in till morning. Carver set the watch rotation while Leandra shared out some travel bread, dried fruit, and a water flask. Bethany and Marian walked about two dozen feet out from the meager camp and began to set up glyphs of warding and repulsion, interspersed with fire mines.

"I'm sorry mother snapped at you like that, Sis," Bethany told Marian softly as they cast their spells side by side. Marian's face went pinched. "Heard all that, did you," she muttered, her eyes averted. Bethany hummed in amusement; "Frankly I'm surprised every Darkspawn from here to Ostegar didn't hear it." Bethany glanced back at camp, her eyes troubled as she studied Carver. "Our brother did not handle that conversation as he should have, and you," Beth turned her gaze to her sister, "said some things that could very well have landed us in more trouble than we're already facing."

Marian finished a ward and stared steadily back at her older sister. "I said what we're both thinking, Beth. We shouldn't be traveling with a damned Templar. The only reason he isn't an outright threat to us right now is he's injured, and I'm not sorry to say that he's weakening by the hour. He's succumbing to a very nasty infection that's somehow resistant to healing drafts and magic. When he finally kicks off, who do you think that lumbering wife of his is going to blame?" "Hush! Keep your voice down, for Maker's sake," Bethany chided in a low murmur, and started casting another ward as she asked cautiously, "What do you mean, infection? What's wrong with him?" Marian blew her hair out of her face, frowning, "I don't know what it is, I just know it's bad. His blood's corrupted with it, and it's spreading. I've felt it every time I cast Mass Rejuvenate; I get this general sense that everyone's perked back up, energy replenished, aches and pains eased, all except for _him_. Whatever's making him sick just...sucks the spell away, and he's no better off than he was before. I've never felt anything like it." She shuddered, gazing warily back at the Templar slumped next to Aveline underneath the rock-face. "It's _disturbing_." Marian bit her lip, brow wrinkled with worry.

"Well, we'll just keep an eye on it, and not give either of them reason to think it's maleficar trickery," Bethany told her, voice gentle and reassuring. Marian nodded, grasping Beth's hand briefly. Their half-ring of protective spells completed, the two mages went back to the group, and settled down to get what sleep they could.


	4. No Peace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We meet a witch, and drop a tin soldier.

The next day dawned just as bleak and smoggy as the last, and Marian excused herself from camp to scout the path ahead. As good an excuse as any to avoid contentious eye contact. With everyone.

The Templar looked awful in the thin morning light; his face was deathly pale. The veins under his skin seemed to run black, spidering up his throat and across his cheeks like small, dark rivers inked upon a paper map. Marian shuddered and tried not to wonder if whatever ailed the Templar was contagious.

They broke camp quickly, meager as it was, and ran into two more Darkspawn packs before noon. The second had a massive, slavering ogre at its head, corded through with dense, knotted muscle under sickly grey skin. Dark, corkscrewed horns distracted from its small, jet-and-yellow eyes and expansive maw of naked shark's teeth.

 _Maker, that’s big…_ was the last thought Marian had time for, because then the chittering pack was upon them.

Carver had Leandra and the Templar herded back as far from the fighting as was physically possible, pinned against the bare hillside that ringed the small plane of the battlefield. Bethany unleashed a lightning storm upon the main bulk of their attackers, while Marian sent arc after arc of jagged ice into the front lines. Aveline worked to cut down archers at the edges of the force, steps quick and sure, shortsword and Templar shield wielded with a vicious efficiency.

Carver ended up cutting down four hurlocks who’d broken through the arcane attacks of his sisters, and saw with rising fear that the ogre had shaken off Bethany’s lightning. It was coming straight for him, full-speed, the ground shaking under its massive feet. He glanced back at the face of his mother, her eyes huge and glassy with terror. He set his jaw on a deep inhale, turned and charged to meet it, closing the distance with a quickness. At the very last moment he let himself fall backward, skidding between its legs as he swept his sword sideways, severing muscle and tendon just above its left ankle. With a roar it fell to its knees, upper body twisting, lashing out with wide sweeps of its massive arms. Carver kept himself down and out of the way as Marian caught the behemoth in a Crushing Prison, and Bethany thrust her open palms forward, casting a brilliant stream of fire, setting the unholy thing aflame. It howled in rage and pain as it burned, hot and bright as any pyre.

The charred, mutilated corpse collapsed heavily to the earth, and the three siblings stared amongst themselves in the following silence. _We survived that. We’re all alive_. Marian felt her face shift into a small, bemused smile. Bethany smiled back with a soft, breathless laugh, and Carver actually chuckled. Marian's smile widened into a victorious grin, fierce, teeth bared and breath steaming hot in the air. Aveline frowned at them all and turned toward her Templar.

Then the dragon swooped down on them.

\---

Flemeth was the dragon's name, though she took on the form of a woman to tell them so. Her bearing was regal, her armor equal parts supple and deadly sharp, her white hair swept up into intricately twisted forms that echoed her dragon's horns. Carver; bold, stupid, protective Carver, moved first to engage her, sword at the ready. Flemeth laughed at him, which filled him with impotent rage. It stiffened his spine and lifted his shoulders, hackles rising like an angry dog. Bethany stepped forward then, a hand on her twin brother's arm as she tried to salvage the interaction via diplomatic apology and pretty manners. Marian watched, silently, eyes narrowed, heart beating fast. Aveline interjected with accusations and old wives' tales, which seemed to amuse the dragon-woman even further.

Somewhere between Bethany's eloquence and Flemeth's curiousity, a deal was struck. Flemeth would see them safely to Gwaren, and Bethany would carry an amulet to the Keeper of a Dalish clan camped near Kirkwall. Marian swallowed her misgivings, and then her panic as Flemeth turned her attention to the Templar, speaking words heavy with unwelcome truth.

"No!" Aveline barked, heading off the witch-dragon, putting herself bodily in front of her Templar. 

"What has been done to your man is within his blood already," Flemeth told her gently, unsettling yellow eyes turned abruptly softer, almost golden, as they filled with something like empathy. Aveline bared her teeth in response, brow drawn down in a wrathful glare over moss-green eyes. She hurried to kneel protectively over the Templar, who was coughing and panting now, as he sat leaned against dusty stone and packed dirt.

"You lie," Aveline growled out, head turned back toward Flemeth without looking at her, throat constricted with denial and rage.

The Templar gently told his wife otherwise, and Aveline closed her eyes as she fought oncoming tears. 

"What...are we talking about, exactly?" Marian asked sharply, breaking through the brief, awkward silence. She thought she already knew, on some level. She had feared it, ever since they joined forces with the Templar and his Aveline. A fear that had nothing to do with the Templar being what he was, and everything to do with the black vines under the skin of his face, growing thicker and clearer the longer they'd traveled, his skin growing paler and more translucent...the girl wanted confirmation, now that it was available. Now that she could know her unease had been justified.

"From the Darkspawn," the Templar wheezed. "All that blood. I knew...when it happened..."

"How...how much time...before you..." Aveline's voice wavered, and Marian's heart constricted unexpectedly with empathetic sorrow, though she kept it wisely to herself.

"Not long now," Flemeth told Aveline slowly, "if I am any judge."

Silence took hold once more, until Marian could bear it no longer; "So...so there's nothing to be done, no cure to be found..." Her voice was halting, hesitant. Flemeth's eyes turned toward the girl, sharp and assessing. "The only cure I know of," the witch stated clearly, "is to become a Gray Warden. And the last of them are now far beyond your reach." The witch's words rang with finality, and Aveline's shoulders bowed, shaking.

The Templar looked up at his wife, eyes clouded with corruption that none could now deny. "Aveline, listen to me," his words were an order, his tone pleading. Aveline's mouth drew tight, eyes avoiding his face, "You can't ask me this. I won't!" Her voice broke on the last word. 

"Please," his voice was soft, entreating. "The corruption is a slow death. I...can't..."

Marian grasped her sister's hand tightly, trying desperately to contain the roiling emotions fighting their way up from her chest. Hadn't she wanted the Templar dead? Hadn't she wished for an excuse to eliminate him from the lengthy tally of their various life-threatening concerns? Why was she so sad, so angry for him and his bitch-wife now? Carver stood silently at his sisters' backs; a tall, comfortingly solid presence, for all that he was usually such a bloody prat. Leandra curled loosely into Carver's side, bearing witness, tears shining in her bright blue eyes.

Aveline, to her credit, made it quick. She turned her face turned aside, hiding her eyes from all watching, her broad shoulders trembling as her Templar breathed his last.

The wind filled the resulting silence with empty noise, until Flemeth spoke softly; “Without an end, there can be no peace.” She turned away from the Templar then, and beckoned for the ragtag group to follow her. “It gets no easier. Your struggles have only just begun.”


End file.
